Magica in Absentia
by a woman of letters
Summary: Inspired by kc2oo9. Emma Swan Winchester grew up trained to be a hunter. Killian Jones lost the love of his life to the hands of a demon and is doing all he can to get back the one piece of his existence that still matters. She needs to prove herself to her brothers and he needs to chase down the demon that killed his wife and kidnapped his son. Can they help one another?


**Inspired by kc2oo9**

Supernatural/Once Upon a Time AU

Captain Swan ultimately  
Supernatural family fic  
Hookfire family fic

Cursing will be abundant

Spoilers up to the current seasons of both shows  
Familiar characters will pop up

Standard disclaimers of character ownership (i do not own) apply

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**Magica in Absentia**

Goddamn it. She closed her eyes and cursed, knowing the mistake she'd made just as it left her. "If you say it—" she half threatened.

He looked caught with his mouth open but quickly closed it and said instead, "I didn't say anything."

"You were gonna—"

"I wasn't."

"Sam—"

He laughed through the following sentence, "You're insisting I say something you don't even _want_ me to say—"

"No, I'm _insisting_ you stop the bullshit like you _weren't_ gonna say it."

He made a half-gesture of defeat. "Okay, yeah, your declen—l"

"See?!" She looked to Dean for support. Dean, who had just happened by on his way to the kitchen via the library, clearly thought the entire exchange was hilarious but was doing his best to hide it. "It's like he can't help himself."

"Hey!" Sam objected.

"My '_declension needs work_' is the go-to, right?" she said, using air-quotes.

Sam shrugged. "Well—"

"Why do I have to deal with Latin? Seriously? Unless we're on a job and your tongue is suddenly ripped out of your head, why don't you just do it?" She demanded.

Dean stepped in with a sage observation, "You say that like it can't happen." Emma reflected on that and in true Winchester fashion let out a weak, 'eh' and sighed. Demons actually _liked_ ripping out tongues. Damn it. Even her analogies _needed work_.

Emma flopped forehead-first onto her open textbook, _Wheelock's Latin_, and groaned. It had been three hours straight of her Latin primer. She hated conjugation but if it was even possible she hated declension even more.

"Masculine implied, singular," Sam offered as a lifeline.

"Screw _him_ instead of screw _them_?"

Sam grimaced. "If that'll help?"

Her face still planted on the book, she flipped Sam off with both hands and muttered, "Is this singular or plural?"

"_Okay_ . . . maybe that's it for today," Sam said, closing his copy of Wheelock's.

Emma rolled her face just slightly and looked to her eldest brother. With a smile she whispered, "See, Dean, there _is_ a God."

"Clap your hands," Dean said with a small grunt. He completed his trip past them and away off to the kitchen.

The sound of singular applause caused Emma to jolt up and Sam to spin around. Dean was back in the room, weapon drawn, faster than either had reacted. Castiel stopped clapping with a furrow of doubt, surprise, and a _little_ bit of annoyance streaked over his features. Even though he was now human, Cas still had the uncanny ability to pop up seemingly out of nowhere.

"I thought that was a request for affirmation . . ."

"Or you know, _sarcasm_?" Emma offered the erstwhile angel. Dean holstered his weapon and went back into the kitchen. Sam packed away the books.

"How would sarcasm be appropriate regarding the existence of God?"

Getting up and stretching out her limbs, Emma shrugged. "It wouldn't be. That's why it's sarcasm." She exited the library and jogged upstairs. There were two choices she had on how to spend that quiet Sunday afternoon. One was music, cookie dough, and knife-throwing practice or—

She opened his bedroom door, "Get your ass up, sweetheart."

Kevin looked up from his bed, his mouth half-full of cookie dough ice-cream as Alt-Rock blasted from his computer speakers. "Come on—" he whined. He'd hoped Sam would have her reviewing nouns for the better part of the day.

"Yeah, come on," she said, waving him over, turning it around on him. She gestured to the gun lockbox that sat on his side table.

He turned off the music and heaved a sigh. "Just promise you won't say it?"

"What?" She feigned ignorance. "That your aim needs work?"

Bolting up he didn't know what else to say but, "You can't even help yourself!"

She loved not being the youngest.

"I'll be in the range," She said. "If you're not down in five—"

"Yeah, I know, you'll be _really_ annoying."

"Bet your ass on it," she said with a grin. Retreating to her room, Emma took up her lock box and swung it open. There weren't actual _locks_ on their lockboxes since no one who lived in the bunker was a kid and/or stupid enough to play around with a weapon but the boxes were Sam's idea. Something about keeping home looking like home and having it separate from the job. When Emma objected, using Dean's display wall as evidence that instruments of death could have a certain pleasing aesthetic, Sam gave her his registered trademarked _bitchface_ and she knew to drop the subject. Inside the box was a nickel-plated Colt 1911 A1 .45 caliber semi-automatic, just like Dean's but _sans_ the ivory handle. Instead, where the faux wood plate used to be, Emma had tricked hers out with Parian marble harvested from a de-cursed object from her very first job. What had been angel wings was now her gun grip. It was her first lesson in irony. She'd been fifteen.

She slipped on her holster, tossed her red leather jacket over her shoulders and bumped into Kevin on the stairs. He jogged down in front of her, "Last one there has to set up the targets!"

"You little shi—" She began, about to give him the race of his life when Sam stepped out at the foot of the stairs.

"Garth called."

Emma and Kevin paused and both understood what that meant. God, this was supposed to be a day off. Emma pointed to Kevin, "He can't go out in the field like this. His aim is shit."

"Her declension sucks," Kevin chimed in, pointing at Emma. Sam and Emma looked at him. "Okay, maybe in a life or death situation my deficiency might trump hers . . ."

"Ya think?" Emma asked.

"Guys," Sam said in that _particular_ tone and they turned back to him, chastised. There were only a few times Sam pulled out the 'tone' and it meant business. Dean, on the other hand, always spoke in the 'tone.' "Done?"

"Done," they both said. They followed him into the war room.

"So," Emma said as she turned the corner. Dean had just hung up the phone. "Animal-vegetable-mineral?"

"Demons are neither of those things," Cas said from the corner he usually occupied.

"Sulfur's a mineral," Kevin observed. Cas was about to respond when Dean cut him off.

"A hunt went balls up last night just outside Lovewell."

"As in 30 miles away Lovewell?" Kevin asked. Dean nodded.

"We've already got two dead hunters so gauge the shitstorm. Our job is securing the read-in civilian lying unprotected at the Jewell County hospital."

"Hospital?" Emma scoffed. "You mean the _clinic_ with the delusions of grandeur?"

"Which is why we've gotta go collect him before he _gets_ collected. Got it?"

"We're babysitting?" She asked with unhidden disgust.

Dean looked over Emma and Kevin and with a smirk only said, "I'm used to it."

She bit her lip. She hated when Dean pulled that card. She wasn't a baby anymore, she was almost 29 actually, so she resented it when he treated her like one. Granted, okay, _fine_, maybe she brought that on herself when she _sometimes_ acted like—okay, see, that's _entirely_ not the point—

"All hands on deck for this one, baby sitting or not. The two dead hunters weren't weekend warriors so until we know what the hell we're up against keep the bullshit at the door. Got it?" They all nodded. "Alright."

That was their cue to break up into their respective teams. With five people in their family: two seniors, two juniors and a human-angel, it at least made the divisions a little easier to handle. Sam and Dean never traveled together, the same way you'd never find a battalion made up of only generals. Before Cas fell, the teams were Sam and Kevin in the Charger and Dean and Emma in the Impala. Now that Cas was essentially the greenest member of the team, he traveled with Dean and Emma _finally_ got her motorcycle. It was a canary-yellow 2000 Indian Chief and it was her baby.

The leaves outside their hobbit hole were crusting with fall and the sun was still high enough in the sky to last them the entirety of the trip. Emma slipped on her helmet and walked the bike out over the dry leaves as her brothers climbed into their glossy black cars.

"I'll prolly get there first," she called out to Dean. He didn't argue with that. Though her bike was a cruiser she was a speed demon and she enjoyed the control a bike gave her in traffic never mind the fact that their entire journey would be made up of rural back roads. "Who should I ask for?"

"Garth said the guy's name was Jones. Killian Jones."

"Killian Jones," she repeated, squaring it away in her memory. She looked behind the Impala to the black Dodge charger and caught Kevin's eye as he was about to slip into the passenger's seat. "Last one there's on toilet duty," she said before dropping her visor and rolling out over the blacktop.

"Hey!" Kevin shouted in rebuttal but she was laughing too hard and her engine growled too deep for her to hear him.


End file.
